Siren Song
by TheGuardianKnux
Summary: What if Erik had been born Erik Bellamy? With a loving family, no deformity, and a job as a director for the Salle des Capucines? Instead, Christine is the deformed one- the Siren of the Opera. And when she sings her sweet song, will Erik be left longing for her- wanting to show her the light, and help her escape her scarred appearance? And what will the Viscount think of her?


Ah Opera. It was nearing its not so graceful end, was it not? The masses were growing bored of the beautiful, gold throated goddess that was the Opera. No longer dying to hear the pearls slip from between her lips- her radiance growing duller as the dreaded 20th century was nearing towards the threshold of old man 19th centuries doorstep.

It was thoughts like these that were entangling and entrapping Erik's mind. It made him bemused and a bit frustrated. He had prepared at a university to hone himself ready to honor her greatness! To honor the art that was Opera, by preparing wonderful melodies and harmonies for her to sing!

But to see how the masses were growing tired of her smiles, laughs and sometimes tears well… It would be disconcerting for anyone looking to be a conductor, would it not? To know that the thin, yet strong, silvery strands you were threading through your fingers- feeding them to the loom that was your orchestra was fading into irrelevant dust….

Slender, bony fingers combed through sleek, slicked back hair as dark as night as Erik stopped to sigh inwardly to himself, before proceeding on.

Non… He would do his best to give Opera her last hurrah… It was his destiny then! He would reel the audiences back into their longing seats- seats waiting for them-

Erik squeezed his eyes shut and urged himself to focus. Great- he was babbling to himself again! That wasn't going to get him any quicker to his job. The nipping winds of the French autumn would at least tell him that much…

Urging his willow legs to move him forward, Erik tightened his hold on the stacks of papers and a conductors baton pressed up against his chest as he continued his walk. He could have called for a coach- honestly, he was surprised why he hadn't, but he supposed that he wanted to be alone with his thoughts…

Erik Bellamy. Now he was Monsieur Bellamy. A prodigy of the arts. He could build just about anything he wanted, and write any musical piece if he so much thought of it. From the tender age of two he had been pounding away at the piano's ivory teeth till he soon graduated to caressing the elongated keys of the organ. Oh how its pipes sung when he played them the first time…

Oh! But where was he?! Ah yes! His start as a child prodigy! Oh how his parents had been proud! It made it much easier to decide how you wanted to raise your child and what career you thought they should have, didn't it? Well, his humble, middle class parents thought so… And here he was now. Freshly graduated out of the university. And only eighteen years old.

It made him smile a bit- a proud smile. Thin lips pressed together, he looked down with his cold, blue eyes and had to breath in a slight sigh of happiness.

Here he was now… Ready to make something out of himself. To make something out of the Goddess that was the Arts, wanting to keep her daughter Opera alive.

Keep her daughter Opera alive through him.

And he was ready to serve his purpose and do so.

As he walked along, musing what he felt was his destiny- his purpose, he could not help but feel his rolling marble eyes get caught on the sight of shadows flitting about in the alley. The little cracks between the narrow, stacked upon buildings. He knew what lay in them.  
It made him stop to gaze upon the little shadows in amusement.  
The vermin of the streets… The homeless that huddled in between these cracks like cockroaches. Erik loved watching them. Loved watching them try to slip in between buildings unnoticed- trying to escape the snouts of the pigs that lined the streets and patrolled about, looking for them. Watching the police deal with these people was also fun to watch.

The homeless never stood a chance when they were caught.

Dong!

Oh! Oh mon dieu- the time was running out wasn't it!? At this rate he was going to be late if he didn't sprint into the building! Why did the sight of all those beggars on the streets have to entertain him, in the dimming twilight of his brain?

The center stage, surrounded by timmering applause, was not where Erik expected to find himself.  
Not one bit.

He was… Use to being behind the scenes! Unseen by his peers! Especially at the university… So to have so many people applauding him and looking incredibly delighted, (except for a vain, piggish woman who was narrowing her eyes disapprovingly at him. Oh well- she was but a mere cog in his orchestra,) almost as if they felt…. Honored, to see him!

At least, that's how Erik felt. He was a genius! Why wouldn't they be glad to see him?

Giving a curt nod, he just stood and gave a polite smile. One of the managers took him by the shoulder, and started to give a rambling speech.

From what Erik had bothered to figure out before hand, the old manager had decided to sell his business, (if he really had to call Opera business of all things,) to two up and coming entrepreneurs from the, "scrap metal," occupation.

These two looked to be a bit older- like aged spring chickens. They seemed to have a lot of energy and eccentricity to the two of them… But that didn't make up for an apparent lack of experience.

The one rambling a speech with his partner laughing away at each… Questionable joke. Their names were Monsieur André and Monsieur Firmin respectively. And he just hoped for their sakes… They stayed behind their desks and payed the rent.

"And so, please, give us another round of applause for recent graduate and child prodigy, Monsieur Erik Bellamy!" Monsieur André roared with a very exuberant laughter, the other members of the company following with their thunderous applause.

Despite the fact that Erik knew he was a rather prideful man… He was still blushing like a rose coming into bloom. Giving another curt nod, he gently stepped off the stage and took his place behind the conductors podem, enjoying all the smiles that were aimed his way.

When his parents received his invitation and came to his first show though, he knew those smiles would mean the most to him.

Excitement starting to dwindle down a bit, one of the managers went over to the side of the stage, and started to introduce something they swore would change the interface of the Salle des Capucines forever.

And out through the curtains, dressed fashionably, his golden locks were tied back into a ponytail, his blue eyes shining with happiness as he took the center stage and waved at his adoring crowd.

Raoul de Chagny, Viscount or Vicomte, and now their loyal patron.

Erik wasn't sure how to feel about an aristocrat invading his Opera.

This man didn't seem to know the first thing about funding his arts. While he was from a middle class family himself, Erik knew that his parents understood how to fund the arts without losing their money to a loss cause. And they always did a thorough background search of each artist or artistic institution, before placing their money into another person's hands. Always in the hope that it would be spent wisely.

But this pretty boy? Bah… What did he know of cautious spending? This place could be a scam for all this guy knew…

Yet the pretty boy vicomte looked oh so pleased to be associated with the Salle des Capucines. To be funding such a, "prestigious," place as he so dared to call it….

It made Erik frown slightly, his cold blue eyes gleaming with a bit of distaste as the Chagny boy gave one last wave and promised sweetly, "And I will make sure that my family and I take the best seats of the house to watch this glorious performance!" And with that, with applause trailing after him, he exited through the back of the stage.

Leaving the rest of them ready for work.

The director taking the stage again, he began to shuffle about his performers, barking out orders and making the chorus and the principles move to his bidding. Finding this to be dull, Erik began to dug and engross himself with his music. Scanning through the score, (that he had just got this morning, mind you,) he began to make necessary adjustments.

Erik had a certain way of going about this. He would always make corrections in red ink- as if it were a paper that someone had turned into a school master, just ridden with mistakes. Or at least, mistakes in Erik's opinion. These composers knew nothing of what the true musical score was suppose to be! Or at least… That was what he thoughts.

Running a glove covered hand through his ivory locks, he blinked slowly. A pale tongue gently sticking out of the corner of his mouth as he gazed down in concentration. Oh yes, that note was much too prominent to be a sharp… Or for this one to be a natural-

Crrrk!

Startled, Erik looked up at the ceiling of the theater. He could have sworn he had heard a noise up towards the ceiling… Or the rafters back stage… Hmm… Maybe one of those drunken stagehands had dropped something…

Eyes flickering back down to the podium, he returned to making his corrections… Till he stopped, and brushed a hand onto the back of his neck. That felt odd… Like a cold wind being brushed down the back of his neck…

Giving a slight sigh, he ran his hand over the top of his hair and tugged his slight ponytail in the back, biting his lip and scrunching down more. Come on, just a few more key changes-

"Senor! I want to run through my song again! Noooowww!" A screeching voice- like an angry peacock tore through his concentration, making Erik jump again and swear inwardly when he saw her, stomping about the stage and demanding- no, barking orders.

Eyes scanning her over, he blinked with a small frown as he remembered her name.

She was infamous in the French Opera scene.

Carlotta Giudicelli was from Italy, make no doubts about that. Her accent was as thick as the spices and garnishes in the sauces of their pasta dishes, and her English was as broken as the channels that were interrupted by bridges and buildings in Venice.

Yet he could not ignore that for a heftier woman, she carried herself with pride and much confidence seen in few women, let alone men. Red locks like wild fire or roses tore down her back in rolled curls, hugging her face like a heart in the front. Her eyes were a piercing grey that froze you in your place if you gazed into her steely eyes like few so did. Even her husband, that wobbly tenor who couldn't sing the end of his phrases well couldn't even look her in the eye.

Now, Erik would acknowledge another thing besides her confidence and gusto. Carlotta had a very well trained voice. He wasn't sure who went through the hell to kick and shove her voice into such wonderful, beautiful restraint and technique.

But it had no soul. It was as dull as the looks on the choirs face throughout this practice.

And it made Erik a bit saddened to hear such a dull voice play such an emotion, key role on the stage. Oh what shame! If only there was someone else on the stage putting their heart into the beautifully crafted melodies that were put to such golden words.

Giving a sad look, Erik took a deep breath and raised his baton. Well, he might as well do his job.

Though as he scanned through the pit orchestra, he could see that everyone… Looked a bit… Nervous. Hmmm! How interesting…. Maybe he would have to ask later while everyone was starting to act this way.

Starting up a kaleidoscope of sounds and sensations, Erik drowned himself in the music. He felt caressed by the sweet tones, frightened by the darker rings of the brass section… The calmed by the tranquil string section. It almost made him forget that a crooning peacock was strutting about the stage, unnecessarily belting her aria to the world-

"AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!"

A ghostly scream broke through his glorious creation, his sultry symphony. It made Erik gasp in shock and almost fall over. It was such a putrid, banshee like wail that he almost couldn't… Feel anything. Everything felt numb, thing seemed to start to slow down.

As a backdrop crashed down on top of the fiery diva. It seemed to consume, and crush her under its waves of off white that were sketched and painted with the triumph of Hannibal.

Or the downfall of the Prima Donna.

And of course the demanding prima began to screech her head off, dozens of people rushing to her aid and trying to help her out from under the crushing waves. At the same time, the ballerinas began to flit and float about in a panic. Distinctly he could recall a tiny blonde haired one jumping forwards and screaming in horror, "She's there! The Siren with her song!"

Making Erik terribly confused as he stared about, wondering what this whole, "Siren," business was about.

Maybe this was why everyone was so nervous?

But who believed that sirens existed? And for that matter, didn't they only live in or around the ocean? They weren't in Normandy though-

"Quiet! Quiet!" One of the managers was assessing the situation, screeching his head off to silence the rest of the crew down. Looked like an interrogation was about to happen! "What are you all, mad?!"

"Non Monsieur!" The petite blonde called out again, looking inexplicably frightened by what had just happened, "She's here again! Ready to rip the flesh off of our bones-!"

Tap!

The knocking of the end of a staff seemed to silence them all. A noble, proud looking woman stepped forward. The best way to describe her was comparing her to a greying swan. She was bony, frail, yet elegant and graceful as she stepped forward with a keen eye and adjusted her floor length braid. Throwing it behind herself, she adjusted her small, feather clad hat and spoke bristling towards her ballerina that had spoken out of line, "Hush Meg! There is no need for your superstitions!"

The poor girl retreated back into the crowd like a wounded puppy, causing Erik to hold back a slight snicker. He couldn't help himself! This was all so ridiculous-

"Now, Monsieurs." The headmistress of the ballet? That's what Erik was sure she did. Anyways, she gripped her staff's head in both hands now and turned towards the confused men with a cold look in her eyes, "I have received a letter. The Siren is not pleased with who you have chosen as our star-"

"This is an outrage!" There was that Prima again! Furrowing his brows into an unamused look, Erik sighed softly as he watched the whining diva storm forward to foam and snarl at the two men who she deemed responsible, "You've been here five minutes and already caused a problem! This is ridiculous!" Turning away, she gave a loud huff and started to storm off the stage, "Come on! We are leaving! I refuse to work in these conditions any longer!"

And when the door slammed shut, the men crumpled like flowers in the heart of winter.

"Oh André," Monsieur Firmin spoke wearily, running a hand through his hair and giving a groan, "This is going to be the death of us, isn't it?"

Monsieur André gave a somber nod, doing his best to try and regain his composure as he addressed the rest of the beguiled crew, "Now now- I am going to assume that this is all a big mistake!" he gave a nervous laugh and shook himself, "We can all just move on, and make it our mission to get tonight's show ready-"

"But there is no understudy…." Someone called out, making Erik pale a bit and grip his quill. Oh just great- who would sing his sweet music now?! Without an understudy-

"I can do it."

All heads turned, all eyes met a surprise not expected by anyone.

A girl in the room. She was wearing a hood, and a mask that covered the top half of her face. She made her move towards the center of the stage. She was brimming with confidence- unlike any he was sure he had seen. And from her hood he could see a set of brimming, brown eyes peering out like tiny beacons.

Tiny beacons calling for him to set his ship in the dock of… Her soul.

Feeling his cheeks redden, Erik cleared his throat and raised his baton. "How many bars?" He asked evenly, tapping his foot as he started up a tempo in his mind.

"Two shall be sufficient enough." She told him, her voice even yet firm.

Taking a deep breath, he raised his baton and conducted two bars.

While her voice, as if on wings, took flight.

No one expected it to sound that lovely.

Unearthly, like an angel she sung. It captivated Erik, and made his soul feel as though it had been swept away. It was so sweet, even- pure! It brimmed with emotion, and soul! He wasn't sure he could contain himself- tears were threatening to brim from his eyes and down his cheeks!

He wanted this song to last forever- to consume him whole. To leave him numb.

It was such an awakening. Making him feel blessed, and grateful that he could be here, listening to her captivating song.

Her siren song.

And all he knew when her song came to a close, and when thunderous applause rang out and almost drowned out his deepest desire.

Was that he wanted to make an angel out of her.

**Author's Note: So I haven't written for POTO in a while, and I wanted to write for it again since it had been such a long time. I felt inspired to do this since I have been watching Phantom over and over again lately, and it just made me happy to remember how infatuated I was with the movie and the musical for so long, so I hope that this fanfiction I'm starting will be sufficient in that regard. :)  
Don't forget to read, comment and review!**


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